


I’d Rather Not Die Young

by Mouseclarke



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 1
Genre: Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouseclarke/pseuds/Mouseclarke
Summary: A tale to dark to relive for Maxwell has now finally been told for his granddaughter.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	I’d Rather Not Die Young

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the fallout bang hosted by @chaosintheaveune 
> 
> Maxwell's main theme: I'd Rather Die, Young by The Hilltoppers

The patter from the rain onto the window continued to keep Sara up, the storm had been raging on for a few days by now creating mudslides, drowning crops and causing the brahmin to become unsettled and restless. Guess Sara and the brahmin have much in common about the rain, it kept her up due to the constant taps on the window. It made her think that someone or something was outside her window trying to get her attention and to whisk her away.

She started living full time at her grandfather's house 2 years ago after she couldn’t stand living with her mother and siblings. He was pleased that he finally had some company that didn't think he was an old man who always needed help with everything he did or some superhero that nothing bad could happen. The last person who saw him as an actual person that was slowly morphed into a legend by the people of arroyo, vault 13 and the people of the wasteland, was Katja and she passed away a good 13 years ago.

“Grandpa,” asked Sara, as she heard the footsteps of her grandfather outside her bedroom.

His snow-white walrus moustache came in to view first as he poked his head through the door. His hair went pure white when he was quite young, many said it was because of radiation. Hell, he even believed it, but then there was the stress of getting the water chip for the vault. Sara’s daydreaming got the best of her like it always did, her thoughts kept her company when she was alone or when she felt worthless.

“Can’t sleep, huh kiddo.” comforted Maxwell, with a small tired smile on his face

Sara nodded

“Let’s see, do you want to hear a story old grandpa Maxwell has to tell,” asked Maxwell as he sat down on the bottom of her bed. He had plenty of them from his adventuring days back when he was known as “the man with the 13 on his back”. Her grandmother told most of the stories since Max would stumble over his words or fall asleep when he was getting to the best part.

But he also refused to tell some, saying that “they were way too scary for kids like you” Katja always said that “the stories he refused to tell were not too scary for kids but too scary for him to relive.”

“Let’s see how about the time I went to vault 15 to look for a water chip.”

“Grandpa you always tell me that story, I probably know the layout of vault 15 by this point. How about the story on how you lost your eye?” asked Sara being sick to death about the story of vault 15 and how Maxwell fought bravely against…. rats.

“*sigh* You are a hard person to please but I think you’re old enough to hear about it.”

Sara’s face started to gleam excitement that finally she would hear a different story about her grandfather’s life of adventure and not the same retelling of an old tale.

“Now when I was still fresh out the vault and didn’t know what the wasteland had in store for me. However, this was a slap in the face to me on how the wasteland was.”

79 years ago…

Crimson coloured blood dripped from him onto himself, the ground, Ian and anywhere it could find to make a pool of itself. Maxwell and Ian had just arrived in Junktown and introduced themselves to Killian Darkwater, Maxwell started swaying side to side as Killian introduced himself to them "My name is …… Darkwater and this here…. town."

Hearing was now a challenge, the same with thinking and blinking. "Guess the khan's got me good" muttered Maxwell as his right hand started to be covered by the warm crimson liquid that oozed out of him by the second.

Drip… Drip… Drip

He started to slur his words, Killian probably thought he was drunk or high, another junkie or alcoholic that thought they could get away with being a mess to themselves or society.

A shy smile crept onto Maxwell’s face trying to reassure Killian and Ian that he was fine and medical attention was not needed for him. “Show no emotion, Max, people will use it against you.” his mother always said that to him when he cried when he laughed when he showed any sign of emotion.

That stuck with him made him grow up into a bitter and angry young man with a huge ego that always thought he was the best at everything he did. The vault had it out of him, he swore off it that Jacoren and the vault were waiting for the perfect time to delve a knife into his back. Figuratively of course.

Drip… Drip… Drip

The blood was now more than visible. As if he had a bullseye painted right on his chest, waiting for some vengeful khan to come and stab him in the chest for the death after the death of Garl Death-Hand. To finish him off so he couldn’t be eaten by the wastes and change into some mad man because of radiation or die due to some wild animal.

His vision became more and more blurry, blackness started to form in the corner of the rooms. Then it expanded and engulfed his surroundings. First, it was the counter behind Killian that was taken a hold, then Killian’s arm until he was gobbled up whole. Ian then joined, until Max was encircled. The blackness waiting for the perfect time to strike and to consume him.

Drip… Drip… Drip

It started to crawl up his leg slowly picking up pace with every inch, Shaking, screaming and wailing was the only thing he could think to do. To try and save him from this ghastly fate that he had confined himself into, the pleas and cries from him continued “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I did.” Nothing worked, now his vision of what's left of Killian's office is fading from him.

No longer is he able to cry, whimper and beg for forgiveness. He can only sit there and accept his fate and sins, as the last glimmer of hope in his eyes flickers out, N.. n..n.n nev-

ZZzzzzz…

“Grandpa.” No answer.

“Grandpa.” Still no answer.

He fell into the nocturnal escape where he could be at peace like he always did when telling stories. It was fair but Sara didn’t do anything about she knew he was old and what was to be accepted by a man of his age. She didn't fight, she didn't cry. She put her head back on her pillow and listened to the rain tapping on the window, except this time it didn’t keep her awake; it soothed her until she escaped reality for another evening.


End file.
